


Of how they rise and fall.

by Crimsy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Depression, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, I'm Sorry, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, So very sorry, Time Skips, and how they grew as people, basically Yuuri and Victor at different stages of their lives, before the met at the GPF, i hope so, is it called character study?, slight mention of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsy/pseuds/Crimsy
Summary: "At four years old, Victor takes his first steps onto the cold ice. Unsure and hesitant. He falls but it doesn't hurt as long as his parents are nearby.At five, Yuuri has just started ballet and he feels as light as he can be. And he rises with every praise Minako showers him with."Or:Alternatively, how Victor and Yuuri rise and fall throughout their lives before they meet.





	Of how they rise and fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Crimsy here. ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ  
> This is actually the first time I actually write for a fandom, let alone muster up the courage to post it online as well.  
> So forgive me for any grammatical errors.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy this small 2k chapter in Victor's POV.  
>  _Oh boy._

At four years old, Victor takes his first steps onto the cold ice. Unsure and hesitant. Very hesitant. The smooth surface underneath his legs feels like it’s about to give up on him at any moment, but his mother drowns him in encouragement and warm smiles as she calls for him to slowly skate closer to her. She’s charming really; with her bright smile, blue eyes as vivid as the clear sky, and silver hair that cascades down her back in a loose ponytail. The way her hair moves wherever she walks or move would always leave him mesmerized. The ice was no exception to how graceful she was, as light and beautiful as Victor always imagined.

He wants to be like that as well. Light and graceful as he walks and skates. He wants to grow his hair as long as his mother’s. It just feels right for him to let it grow.

But for now it’s small unsteady steps on the ice, before his legs give up on him and he wobbles before falling. He falls on his palms and knees, a small yelp escaping his lips as he sits on the cold ice with eyes filled with tears, trying not to cry. The cold ice stings and his palms feel like he burned them recklessly.

“Vitya!” his mother calls, skating towards him. His father calls out “Viten’ka! Are you alright?” removing his skate guards, entering the rink to reach his son who’s sitting on the ice.

He manages a small nod, with precious tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Falling happens to anyone Vitya, his mama says in a delicate tone. She gently cradles his small hands in hers, kisses his palms gently. Kisses the pain away before she gently pulls him back on his feet. His father pats his clothes from behind, and gently pushes him to his mother as he slowly skates alongside them. “You’re doing great Viten’ka. You’ll be fine” his father says, and Victor nods.

It feels safe like this, his hands in mama’s. His father skating alongside them.

 

  
Victor falls on the ice, but it doesn’t hurt as long as his parents are there.

 

* * *

 

When Victor is ten years old, he’s running back home after long hours of practice at the ice rink. His duffle bag shifts on his back as he runs, and his feet, sore from the skates. It’s been a long and tiring day after falling couple of times on the ice. He can feel bruises blooming in various places under his clothes. It’ll probably look awful by tomorrow morning. His mama will probably apply some cold compresses on the ones she can reach while cradling him in her arms telling him how proud she is.

  
Yakov is actually a nice man. Well, Mr. Feltsman, as his parents always reminds him to call him. Don’t give him too much trouble Viten’ka, and listen to him his father would tell him. He trains champions, winners.

Other skaters get intimidated by Mr. Feltsman, but to Victor he’s just a grumpy man with a good heart and great insight. Besides he makes Victor laugh when he yells at the seniors for their poor jumps or spins. It makes him laugh when Yakov catches the juniors attempting a triple jump or even worse, a quad, while he can get away without being scolded. Well, some times not always.

But Yakov is Yakov, and Victor isn’t calling him Mr. Feltsman any sooner.

Yakov might be training champions and winners, but to Victor there’s more to it.

Just a little more.

He doesn’t want to be _just a champion or just a winner. He wants to be a legend._  
He firmly believes that. He’ll do it. He _can_ do it. But for the time being, he’ll fall as many times as he needs to learn his jumps, and refine his spins. He’ll be the surprise no one saw coming, not even Yakov.

  
It doesn’t sting like before when he falls.

 

* * *

 

On his fifteenth birthday, his parents gift him a poodle. A small café-au-lait puppy that can barely walk around without tripping over itself. He falls on his knees, cooing at the puppy, laughing as she licks his cheeks, drowning him in puppy kisses and a lot of saliva.

“What are you going to name her Vitya?” his mother asks, setting a small piece of cake on the coffee table, crossing her legs. “Viten’ka, she’ll need a lot of care you know” his father adds in, amused at his son on the floor laughing. “I know!” he sing-songs. “Look at her so fluffy!” scrunching his nose, as he scratches her behind the ears. “I’m gonna call her Makkachin” he answers after a while. “Sounds great to me!”

“Right mama?”

“Yes Vitya!” she laughs.

 

* * *

 

When he’s sixteen, Victor stands on the podium, gold in his hand and silver tied in a ponytail. His eyes shine with so much pride and joy. His efforts have slowly begun to show results and Yakov is ecstatic. His parents wave at him from the stands, smiling. Glowing with pride. He grins even wider, waving back at them with such joy.

And Victor?

Victor is beyond thrilled at what the future holds for him when he’s carved such a brilliant start for himself. For this time, Victor didn’t fall. No slips or errors. He looked flawless, mesmerizing, perfection on the ice.  


He rose to higher than he anticipated. And that, for now, is the best feeling he could hold onto for the coming years and competitions.

 

* * *

 

Twenty-two, and Victor is a well known figure in his circle. Sponsors, figure skating enthusiasts and keen eyes keep an eye on him. No one can peel their eyes off him as he skates. Captivating programs, and such an exquisite taste in music. His presence on the ice is of utmost grace, and magic to the eye. He captivates the audience, surprising everyone with everything he can give and is willing to. And this, this is what he lives for; the joy of being on the ice, the thrill of surprising everyone, an artist on full display of skills and expressions for the world to see and admire.

And he loves it; he loves every moment the lights shine over him, casting his shadows onto the ice underneath him. Silver hair shining just like his mother’s, twirling behind him as he skates with such grace and lightness just like his mother. And he loves it.

  
Viktor rises higher and higher, and his falls grow lesser and lesser.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-four.

  
Victor cuts his hair in a cold bathroom in their house.

 

 

It never felt this empty, and his heart hasn’t felt this broken and shattered. He’ll have to move on sooner or later, but for now, he’ll give time for his grief as he hold the pair of scissors close to his long silvery strands. Loose in his fingers, sliding between the blades, missing some and cutting some as he snips through it.

The hair that he once looked after it with great care and affection, now feels nothing but a dead and heavy weight on his shoulders. Like a reminder for him that his mama is no longer here. No longer here to hug him after practice, and tend to his bruises. No more kisses for him before he travels with Yakov to competitions. No more laughers and hearty conversations of how ridiculously extra he was off the ice, or how scandalous one of his outfits was. No more gentle tugs to his hair before she’d sit and braid it for him. He once basked under the love, care and infinite adoration of his mother, but now there’s nothing for him to cling on. Nothing to hold onto…and no one to turn back to for reassurance and praise. His mother’s praise always felt so different from his father’s that he craves for it.

He resists the urge to cry as his fingers slip through his long hair, now chopped roughly in different layers and angles. He’ll hold onto this for a while. Just a while longer.

Just a little more.

 

  
At twenty-four, Victor moves out of their family house and finds a beautiful, modern and sleek apartment in the newer streets of St Petersburg. A little far away from their house, but he’ll drop by every now and then to visit his father. It wasn’t your fault Viten’ka his father told him over and over, hugging him before they parted.

He clutches the last box of belongings close to his chest, slowly making his way up the stairs. Makkachin trots behind him before she runs ahead and sneaks into the apartment, which Victor had left the door creaked for them to enter. When he finally reaches his apartment, he sets down the last box and closes the door behind him. Only the soft click of the door’s lock follows them as he stares at the door for a while. It’s only him and Makkachin from now on, and it feels terribly cold and empty. _So very empty._

He turns his back and rests it against the door as he slides onto the floor, and his mask falls. He breaks down in sobs. Heart wrenching sobs and sniffles as Makkachin gently shuffles back to him and flops near his legs, whimpering in a low tone, voicing gentle concerns to her owner as he cries his heart out in the depth of the night, in his new apartment.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-seven, Victor feels like he owns the world from up and above.

He is a legend.

Victor Nikiforov; a living legend, and Russia’s national hero and greatest pride. With four consecutive wins in various championships and international competitions, he stacks a fifth win at the Grand Prix Finals, foreshadowing a fifth successful season for him.

Fans flock to him for photographs, selfies, congratulations for his fifth win at the Grand Prix, and how wonderful he was on the ice. Sponsors come to him left and right, and offers for photo shoots, advertisements, and shows. People would dream of going out with _The_ Victor Nikiforov. Of dating such a charming personality and handsome face, but as Chris tells him he’s too much of a hopeless romantic to engage with flings or one night stands. Victor laughs it off, telling him he’s too busy to be invested in a relation where he can’t be committed. Besides he’s married to his job. But Chris knows Victor, and they both know Victor is the biggest liar between the two of them. He just doesn’t want to get hurt. The ice hasn’t disappointed him so far.

  
They make their way towards the ice rink for the medal ceremony, and a simple sigh escapes from Victor’s lips. Chris takes note as he cautiously asks “Are you alright Victor?”

“A little tired from the ice’s glare. That’s all”

“You’ve been a ‘little off’ even last season”

“Chris!” Victor laughs, linking arms with him, head leaning onto his friend’s shoulder. “Just because I sighed a while ago doesn’t mean I don’t get tired! I’m not a machine! I’m human just like you dear Chris”

“Define human when you broke your own record again. The season is just getting started.” Chris teases, earning another laugh from Victor as he adds on “You’re making it hard for us Victor, who’s going to catch up with such scores?”

“Someone will, eventually.” Victor nods, pulling Chris with him as they walk towards the rink’s edge, unlinking arms to take off their skate guards. “See you on the podium?” he asks in a teasing tone. “See you on the podium you charmer” Chris winks, both of them laughing before Victor skates on first.

 

Gold looks good on him, but it feels more of a chain and cuffs around his neck than an achievement for him to take pride in. His smile feels hollow to him, but he pulls a perfect Prince Charming smile for the cameras and fans. He’s perfected that smile over the years for the public, and a wink with it will do. Definitely.

It all feels so heavy and tiring now; to repeat and repeat on and on the same cycle of training, choreographing, and skating before he snatches another gold. To fall into a dull routine. What once surprised the crowd and audience now seems all predicable for them, after all Victor Nikiforov, living legend doesn’t do normal. He does magic and surprises, but to him these surprises feel more of a commitment than actual joy he once pursued with enthusiasm.

Something feels off, if not missing but he’s not sure. Not yet anyways. Yakov probably has a lecture awaiting Victor on how his spin could have been better at the end of the program, but for now he’ll tune out all the voices congratulating him, and tune in nothing but his free program’s music on loop in his head till he gets through the ceremony and back to his hotel room.

 

 

At 20:07 PM; Victor takes a deep breath, inspecting himself in the mirror by the door of his hotel room. He looks as flawless as ever, silver hair combed back, and impeccable in his suit. Couple of knocks on his door startles him, followed by Chris and Yuri singing behind the door for him to hurry up.

“Everyone knows the gold medalist likes to be fashionably late” Victor states, pulled by Chris and Yuri towards the banquet room, as the youngster rolls his eyes. “Not 2 hours fashionably late. Come on old man”

“Rude” Victor chides him.

“Besides the gold medalist needs to make an appearance, can’t leave people hanging Victor” Chris adds to the conversation. “Why not? It’s always the same, chat here, smile there, shake hands and look nice. Maybe some champagne or wine”

“Champagne” Chris emphasizes.

“Champagne” Victor repeats after him. “Maybe a glass or two then everybody goes home!”

“Then let’s get over with it!” Yuri almost screams, dragging Victor by the sleeve. “Sounds like Yura wants to skip it too” Victor teases in a light tone, dragging the last word in a song.

“Do not! Ugh come on!” Yuri rolls his eyes once more, turning to Chris. “Tell him to stop being lousy! And to walk properly!”

“You heard him Victor” Chris looks back at his friend, smiling sheepishly, wishing he had a way out of this banquet.

 

  
Later on that night; Victor falls again. Not quite literally. But he falls in the arms of someone. In the arms of a young man; filled with champagne, laughers and bright smiles. In strong arms that held him as they danced in the banquet room like it was meant to be used. They fall into synchronicity and harmony in their steps as they dance one style after another, one song after the other. As if they’ve always been partners in dance and crimes.

 

He falls this time, but it isn’t as bad he thinks. It doesn’t sting or break his heart.

 

He falls, not in love. Not yet.  
But for now he falls in synch with that young man’s steps and laughs ringing in the banquet room.

With every step they take, his heart rises, rises and soars with such joy it feels so new, so refreshing for him that he wants more. He can’t help it, but he wants more, he wants more of this kind of laughers and dances. More of this joy and fun as if carved out of time and space for them to enjoy, even if for a while, away from competition and the public’s eyes.

  
By the time he goes back to his hotel room; a smile has spread across his lips, cheeks flushed with a gentle shade of pink, and mind lost in the events of the banquet earlier. Still lost in the sight of that person’s raven locks and brightest brown eyes he has ever seen. Of his smile and how he danced with Victor like the world spun for them. They’ll eventually meet again; after all they are competitors in the same circuit.

At Worlds, he thinks. He hopes. Victor was never one for hoping, but he hopes and he prays they do meet sooner.

 

  
Victor Nikiforov might have fallen a couple of times; but this time he’s sure he rose to a new sensation and feeling. A new experience that doesn’t leave his palms stinging from the cold, and tears in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is Yuuri's POV, but in a different contrast to Victor's.
> 
> Here's [ my tumblr ](https://crimsonrebel.tumblr.com) and [ my twitter](https://twitter.com/crimson__rebel) if you ever feel hitting me up with a question, or just want to chat. (๑•́ ω •̀๑)


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